


Pop Goes the Question

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Spy makes a ridiculous suggestion, and Medic can't quite bring himself to disagree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pop Goes the Question

**Author's Note:**

> i'm publishing this at two in the morning before i can think better of it

“Marry me.”

Medic looked up slowly from his paperwork, staring over the rims of his glasses at the thin man lounging across from him. There was a cigarette in his hand.

“Put that out,” Medic said, when Spy moved the foul thing to his lips, “and repeat what you just said to me.”

“Marry me,” Spy said, again, clear as day. He flicked a column of ash into the little tray on top of the desk; a precaution, not a courtesy, the doctor had told himself when he put it there.

“No,” Medic said flatly. Spy raised an eyebrow. Medic noted with annoyance that he had not actually stubbed out the cigarette.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I'm afraid I don't, _Docteur.”_

Medic put down his pen.

“Spy,” he said. “You cannot be serious.”

“Can't I?” the Frenchman answered. He took another bold drag of his cigarette, letting the smoke curl out of his open mouth. His eyes gleamed expectantly through the haze of grey. Medic frowned. He knew that expression, better than most, and knew what it meant. Spy _was_ serious. Absolutely, ludicrously serious.

Medic took off his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face.

“This is a profoundly bad idea.”

Spy's face twisted into a wry smile. He got languidly to his feet, finally grinding out the stub of his cigarette into the ashtray as he walked around the desk.

“I don't care,” he said, pulling Medic's chair out, turning it to face him. He leaned down, catching the doctor's chin in his hand, tilting his face up for a kiss. Medic allowed it at first. It wasn't until Spy began to climb into his lap that he protested.

“Spy, please, the door-”

“I don't care.”

Spy was straddling him now, arms around his neck, pressing soft, fleeting kisses to his jaw and the corners of his mouth. Medic craned his neck to look at the double doors to his office, expecting to see the shadow of one of their teammates outside.

“If someone walks in-”

“I don't care.”

Spy's hands were smoothing over his shoulders now, down his arms and chest. Medic caught caught the man's wrists in his hands, pushing him away.

“You're being ridiculous, we cannot-”

Spy pitched forward, kissing him hard enough to bruise. He tasted of ash and tar, and the vile spice of his own personal brand of cigarettes. He broke away with a wet smack.

“ _I don't care._ I don't care who sees or who knows, I don't care what they think. I don't care to be afraid anymore.” His eyes hardened. “It's been three years, _Docteur._ Our contracts will end in less than six months time. We can leave, go wherever we like, live how ever we want. And with our salaries, who can stop us?”

Medic opened his mouth to protest, and Spy kissed him again. Softer. He worked his hands free and placed them around Medic's neck once more.

“I don't know about you,” Spy said, resting their foreheads together, “But I don't intend to walk away from this. From us. I've put entirely too much effort into this relationship to have it end simply because we are no longer contractually obligated to see each other every day. I'm going with you, or you're coming with me. It is not a matter of discussion.”

“We're men,” Medic said, his voice barely more than a whisper. Spy may not be afraid, but he was. He was more afraid than he'd been in years. “We can't- they won't let us-”

“I don't care,” Spy said, again, a hint of exasperation creeping into his voice. “We'll find a way. We'll find somewhere that it doesn't matter.”

Medic swallowed. His voice still broke when he spoke.

“But what if we can't?”

Spy kissed him again, long and slow. His hands worked slow, calming circles into Medic's shoulders, his body warm against and solid against Medic's own. But he didn't answer. He didn't need to.

“Marry me,” he said, for the third time. And then, “Please.”

Medic let out a shaky laugh, and the breath he was holding along with it.

“Oh, alright,” he said, against his better judgment. “Since you asked nicely.”

Spy pulled away and stared at him.

“Really? Do you mean it?”

“A little politeness will go a long way,” Medic said, trying to ignore the sudden knots in his stomach. More than fear now, though that was still there. Nervousness. Giddiness. “Did you bring me a ring?”

Now it was Spy's turn to laugh.

“ _Non,_ of course not. Would you wear it if I had?”

“Yes.”

Spy stopped laughing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Then I'll get you one,” he said simply.

“And one for yourself as well,” Medic added. His stomach did a funny little flop at the way Spy smiled at him. It was not entirely unpleasant.

“Shall we get them to match? I know several jewelers who know the meaning of discretion, and wouldn't object to this sort of thing. Perhaps silver, instead of gold? Gold was never my colour.”

“I don't suppose you've picked out colour swatches or floral arrangements?” Medic asked drily. He settled his arms around the man's waist, supporting him and holding him close. “I have heard that lavender is lovely for a Spring wedding.”

“I had not planned that far ahead, but I'll keep it in mind.” Spy kissed him against, chaste and brief. He sighed. “Say it again.”

“Say what?”

“Say you'll marry me.”

Medic smiled. He shifted, arms tightening around the man in his lap. He pulled him close, so that they were nose to nose, looking into each other's eyes.

“Yes,” he said, grinning even as he tilted his face. “Yes, I will marry you.”

When they kissed again, Medic nearly forgot all about the unlocked door, or the months of brutal battle that lay ahead of them. If they stayed here, just like this, wrapped in each other's arms, perhaps they could truly believe it could work.

And maybe, if they were very lucky, it really would.

 


End file.
